


Blood is Thickest

by koalaboy



Series: Dadstantine [3]
Category: Constantine: The Hellblazer (Comics), Hellblazer, Hellblazer & Related Fandoms, The Demon (DCU Comics)
Genre: Gen, John is a good brother, M/M, Other, sometimes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 14:43:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15731535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koalaboy/pseuds/koalaboy
Summary: Cheryl needs a place to stay after choosing to divorce Tony (much to the relief of everyone). Little does she know what's waiting in store for her in her brother's new life. Set in the AU where John adopts Astra and is just generally more healthy.





	1. Chapter 1

John received the phone call during a Justice League debrief. J’onn frowned at him, which was nothing new, J’onn frowned at everybody unless they bargained with cookies. Bruce, on the other hand, did not frown like John had expected. He had been studying John for a long time and he knew that the speed with which the man exited the room meant something was wrong. 

Cheryl. Gods, it was Cheryl. John almost wanted to press ignore just to save himself the lecture. But what if she wasn’t calling to remind him about Gemma’s birthday party which he was going to be late for (again)? Hell, she  _ never _ called him unless something was wrong. He answered just before it transferred to message bank.

“Are you alright, Chez?”

“No, I’m fucking— I don’t know what I am, John. Tony’s gone absolutely bloody off his head.” 

Fear gripped John’s chest and he gasped loud enough for Cheryl to hear.

“S’okay, I got Gemma and me out, but I need some place to stay while I figure things out. Can you come pick me up, John? Please?”

John was silent for a long time as he picked anxiously at his middle fingernail with his thumb, “Yeah. Yeah, I will. You need anythin’, luv?”

Cheryl’s voice flooded with relief, “Thank you, Our John. An’, no, just need to see you. I’ll text you the address.”

“Okay.” John hung up as quick as he could. Quite honestly, he couldn’t stand the exchange of ‘I love you’s between them. It had never been their  _ thing _ . 

John leaned against the outside wall of the meeting room at the Watchtower and let out a long sigh. Justice League members began to file out of the room and John started to leave with them, but a firm hand on his shoulder kept him in place. 

“I know, I should’a had it on silent. M’sorry, alright?” He began.

“It’s not that,” Bruce said, and at the strange tone of voice that came from the other, John turned around to face him, “Something’s wrong.”

There really was no point in lying to the world’s greatest detective, “It’s me sister. She’s in some kinda trouble. I gotta go pick ‘er up. Guess she’ll be livin’ with Jace an’ I for a bit.” 

John’s phone buzzed and the address displayed on his lock screen - a picture of Astra mid grand jete. 

Bruce nodded solemnly in understanding, “A Wayne Enterprises' London car will have you there in five minutes. I assume you’ll simply materialise your House of Mystery anywhere you want. I’ll set the teleporter for—“

John held up a hand in objection, “I can teleport myself. Magic, remember?” 

Bruce glared at him as usual. 

“And John? If you need any money…”

“I know, you’re a walking charity. Don’t you worry about it, squire,” John quipped before disappearing in a flash of smoke and flame. It set the area’s sprinklers off.

“Hmm,” Bruce grunted in response. He ground his back teeth together in frustration despite Alfred repeatedly warning him against it, citing the risks of aggravating his Temporomandibular Joint Dysfunction from being punched in the jaw so many times. Hence the new addition of jaw support to the cowl. 


	2. Chapter 2

John appeared outside the front doors of the London division of Wayne Enterprises - his current employer as a consultant on magic and its properties for good. The Justice League, for all of its bullshit importance, didn’t pay much, and John had three adopted children all of which went to private schools and required the occasional counsellor. He needed the extra cash.

The car came to a stop, the back passenger door perfectly aligned with his body. He climbed in, hooking the tails of his coat in behind his legs. The driver already had the destination input into the GPS navigation system and they sped off without hesitation. They conveniently made every green light, which was a feat in itself in London, and John suspected Bruce had something to do with it. 

Cheryl was currently staying in a two-star hotel in Blackpool and John immediately recognises it as their childhood vacation apartment. He took in the familiar smell of car exhaust, ocean, and alcohol as he stepped out of the car.

“How much for the return trip, mate? Might as well fix this up now. Things get bloody hectic with Chez and I.” John mumbled as he leaned close to the open driver’s window, reaching into his breast pocket for his wallet.

“Compliments of Mister Wayne,” the driver replied and waved his hand dismissively.

John cleared his throat and turned to face the two-story hotel building, whose height had suddenly increased tenfold under the influence of his anxiety. 

“Ah, fuck it,” he grumbled and rid himself of his coat for the moment. He hooked it over his forearm and rolled up his sleeves, ripping the various nicotine patches from his skin - far more than was recommended - and then replacing his coat. He fetched a squashed, but still lightable cigarette from a hidden pocket in the trench and lit it with a click of the fingers on his right hand which produced a small flame. He knew he wouldn’t regret learning that little trick. He took in deep, greedy drags of it.

He opened his phone and sent a simple ‘here’ text to Cheryl. He gazed expectantly up at the doors that lined the hotel. His eyes trailed the dumpy, disheveled figure that emerged and tugged a little girl along with it. Definitely her. She had a duffle bag with her and nothing else. That bastard Tony had robbed her of her twenties and everything else. John remained fond of the idea that Gemma was the only good thing to come out of Tony. So good, in fact, that he wondered if Tony was even her father. 

“Uncle John!” Gemma cried, rushing into him and almost knocking the small man over with the force of her hug.

“Hiya, kiddo,” he greeted, opting for a gentle pat to the top her head.

“Thank you for comin’,” Cheryl added, a relieved smile on her face.

“Didn’t expect me to show?” John asked.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

He couldn’t deny it and so tossed his cigarette into the puddle of rainwater near his feet to avoid giving a response.

“Can I sit in the front?” Gemma asked excitedly, her grubby hands leaving fingerprints on the metallic black paint of the car as she gazed in.

“Sure thing,” John said and Gemma didn’t hesitate to climb in and play with the buttons on the stereo.

“What’s the car about?” Cheryl asked, suspicion clear in her voice as she tossed her bag into the boot.

“Perk of the new job,” John answered truthfully.

She raised her eyebrows at him and joined Gemma in the car. 

John leaned into the driver’s window, “Pull’er up near the vacant lot on South Street. It won’t be vacant for much longer.”

“As you wish, Mister Constantine.”

John sat beside Cheryl in the backseat and watched with slight fascination as Gemma navigated the radio until she found a station she liked almost as if she was born with intimate knowledge of every technological device made.

“Kids these days, huh? Born with phones in their hands,” Cheryl said.

“Yeah. You should see Astra when she comes home on the weekends. I didn’t even  _ know _ what Alexa was until a few months ago.”

Cheryl smiled. It looked good on her face, John decided. It had been quite a while since he'd seen her with a genuine smile.

“That’s your baby girl, huh?”

John nodded, “She’s at White Lodge, you know? That fancy Royal Ballet School?”

“How’s she doing? That’s boarding, right?”

“She’s doing fine. It’s me who misses her.”

Cheryl gives his thigh an affectionate pat to comfort him.

“So tell me about The Bastard Supreme. What made him fly off the handle this time?”

“The divorce,” Cheryl admitted.

The biggest of Joker-like grins formed on John’s face, “Now that’s what I call a step in the right direction on your part, luv.”

Cheryl laughed at the dumb expression on her younger brother’s face, “Yeah. Well, I’ve been seein’ someone.”

“Now I ain’t one for cheating,” John conceded, “But that’s the kind of kick in the bullocks he needed.”

“A counsellor, John.”

John pouted, disappointed with the lack of bullocks-kicking directed at Tony, "They come in handy, I'll give 'em that."

"You're seeing someone?" She asked. The last she knew her brother had self-admitted to a psychiatric hospital, she hadn't expected him to keep it up.

John elbowed her playfully, "Jus' wait 'til you see my medicine cabinet, Chez. S'like a hospital in there."


	3. Chapter 3

The vacant lot on South Street in the middle-of-nowhere London had always been vacant, but today, there had always been a house there. In fact, the house had been there so long that the dampness in the soil had started to rot the foundations. The people who walked by the previously-vacant-lot on South Street wondered to themselves just how long they had gone without noticing such a big, old house being there. Others recalled having seen it there all their lives, some had memories of venturing onto its doorstep as children as part of Halloween truth-or-dares. Yet, the house had only existed there since John had decided that that is where it would be. The woman who lived across the street from the now-not-vacant-vacant-lot knew the moment the man in the tan trench coat stepped out of the car that he was the owner of the house. Just how she knew she wasn’t sure, but as he walked up the steps of the landing, it seemed to embrace him. She made a mental note to bake an apple pie for him when she had the time. Once the house had moved on, as it always did, she would forget all about the apple pie and the man in the tan trench coat.

“So this is home,” John said as he held the door open with his arm for the two girls. The House had already made up a spare bedroom with two single beds for the guests. Its very walls hummed with excitement. Cheryl put this noise down to an old refrigerator. 

“It looks a lot bigger inside,” Gemma remarked, flopping herself down on the couch.

“It is,” John answered, giving her a wink.

He hoped he was being loud enough that if anyone were home, they had stopped being obviously magical. 

“It’s very nice, Our John,” Cheryl said as she ran her fingers carefully over one of the many bookshelves. She noticed, with curiousity, that all of the books were incredibly old, some even handwritten. Antiques, she assumed. She was right to a degree. They were first editions written for Jason Blood himself out of appreciation for his services. If Cheryl hadn't been still so distressed over Tony, she might have noticed names such as 'William Shakespeare', 'Lord Byron', and 'Mary Shelley' on the spines.

As if suddenly aware that someone was admiring his books, Jason appeared (though this time he’d simply walked into the room instead of materialising himself there). 

“You’re home early, John,” he yawned, descending the spiral staircase to the ground floor where he was shocked to find the mud-caked converse of an unfamiliar child on his priceless antique couch, “And have neglected to tell me we have guests.”

John fought a blush from his cheeks; determined to stay his usual collected self, “Jason, Cheryl and Gemma.”

“Ah! Of course,” Jason clapped his hands together as recognition sparked in his brain, “If I’d known two lovely ladies were coming, I would have dressed more appropriately.”

It was then that it dawned on John that his boyfriend was wearing nothing but a kimino from 19th century Japan and briefs. Jason tied the sash of the kimino around his waist as if that would make any difference to the amount of perfectly sculpted chest muscles he was showing. 

“Oh, there’s no need for that,” Cheryl interrupted. She giggled as Jason took her hand and gave the top of it a gentle kiss. 

John rolled his eyes, “This is _my boyfriend_.”

Cheryl blushed and apologised profusely, feeling like an idiot. But Jason was incredibly charming despite his odd hair and strange looks. He often drove people wild when they first met him - whether this was Jason himself or the demonic addition John wasn't sure. The only person to escape his charms had been Bruce Wayne, but that man could climb his way out of Hell faster than John Constantine and that was saying something. Gemma squinted at Jason with all the suspicion of a Constantine running through her blood - there was something slightly off about him. She hadn't determined what yet.

“I’m working on a case, at the moment, excuse me.” Jason left to the same place he had came, but not without kissing the top of John’s head first.

Cheryl stared at the doorway Jason left through, “Good job on that one, Our John. Is he a police officer or somethin'?"  


John snorted, "Nah. Uh, no, he's- kinda... he does a lot."

"Ah, here we go again, the mighty John Constantine and his usual ambiguity strike again."

John knew it hurt his sister not to know things, they had always been so close growing up and the distance between them in adulthood ate away at both of their hearts, but he also knew she wouldn't be satisfied with 'The Justice League', 'Magical Consultant' or even 'sorry, Chez, classified'. 

So, John did what he always does when things get tricky:

"You wan' a drink, luv?"

"Sure."

For once, that satisfied Cheryl enough.


End file.
